‘I mean, I could bring them here! So you can pick them up when you come to install the bathroom.’

He gave a curt nod. ‘Thanks.’

‘Ever thought of moving out of the village, Luke?’ I asked, dumping a crate of screws in the growing pile outside the barn doors.

He moved back inside to grab an old-fashioned roller lawnmower. ‘Got no reason to move.’

‘Well, then, Becky could drop her honey round to your house without it being a problem.’

Becky glared at me, mouth hanging open, making frantic tiny slashing motions across her neck.

‘It’s not a problem for me now.’ He strolled past, swinging the mower as if it was made of cotton wool, not iron.

‘It’s a problem for Becky, given the response she might get from your neighbours.’

He paused, mower perched on his shoulder. Becky looked as though she might faint, whether from the topic of conversation or how rugged and manly he looked, I wasn’t sure. Probably both. ‘As tasty as Ziva’s honey is, I’m not sure it’s worth me moving house for, given that we’ve agreed Becky’ll drop some at the farm.’

I resisted the urge to explain that honey was not quite the point.

Luke removed his gloves, pulled off his beanie hat to run a hand over his buzz-cut hair, then tugged it back on again. ‘Time I headed off.’

‘Well, thanks for all your help. Do you want me to pay now, or will you email an invoice?’

He took three strides over to where the remains of the cake sat on a crate, grabbed the lot and took a giant bite. ‘Consider it paid!’ he called, words distorted by a full mouth. Then he shot Becky a wink, jumped in his van and left her swooning in the spray from his wet tyres.

I spent that night twisting myself up in the duvet, imagining the various ways that the Ferrington mob might react to my idea. Then remembering how Becky had guffawed at the very thought of me inviting both sides to my stupid cider tasting, and spiralling into panic.

I lugged myself down for breakfast as soon as I heard Hope wake up, opting for coffee and a square of apple cake. My housemates were already enjoying their eggy soldiers.

After a fortifying gulp of coffee, I decided to go for it. I needed to be open about what I was planning. Given the risk – albeit surely a small one – of anything kicking off, Daniel had the right to know in advance, given that it was his farm.

‘So… one of the reasons I’m clearing out the barn is because I’m planning a low-key type thing.’

Daniel looked up at me from under his brow.

‘This Sunday evening.’

He waited, a blob of egg dripping off the end of his sourdough soldier.

‘Like, with, cider tasting and food samples and, um, a short presentation.’

Daniel nodded, stuffing in the soldier in one bite. ‘I was wondering when you were going to tell me about it.’